The Duchess and the Spy (2 page)

“I tire of you. I want to go down to the ballroom.”

“I don’t want to let you go, Duchess.”

“You must,” she said, inwardly begging him to kiss her. She knew that heaven would be in his kiss, and she desperately wanted it.

“And I am quite certain your other virtues are above reproach.”

“I will have no more of your tiresome games, Monsieur.” She reached to plant her hands on his chest, and prepared to defend herself from his advances. She had never allowed a man this near to her before…but she had to admit…she was inexplicably drawn to him. She couldn’t really place her finger on it…but he had a special quality that made her almost weak kneed. Her heart hammered against her ribcage. She gasped, when her hands touched him. Energy shot through her. He felt it too…that much she knew, from the slight shudder that rippled through him. For one brief second in time—it was as if she’d finally found a place to call home in his arms.

Rioting emotions ran through her. Visions of a man standing on a beach with the wind whipping through his wavy black hair filled her mind’s eye. His face struck a chord within her. She knew him. He was her soul mate.

She struggled for breath.

He pulled away from her. “You are a bloody witch!”

She didn’t know what he had seen or felt, but by the sound of his ragged breathing…it had to have affected him in the same way she’d been affected.

“You will be the death of me. Get off to your blasted masquerade. But remember, I shall be watching you. Don’t try pulling off any tricks.”

She heaved a shuddering breath. “I have no tricks up my sleeve, Monsieur. You seem to have the wrong impression of me.”

“Oh, I know just what you are. No matter how many times you try to defend yourself against it. You are a traitor to your heart.”

She couldn’t understand what he meant, and frankly, she’d had quite enough of him.

“I hope to never cross paths with you again.”

“Never is a long time, Duchess.” His voice softened. It caressed her.

“Don’t follow me.”

“I have no other choice…but I shall keep a discreet distance. We can’t have Boney jumping to rash conclusions, can we? For such a little bastard, his brain is quite cunning. I’ll give him that much.”

She rushed away from him. Heat still scorched her cheeks. He had quite undone her!

What bloody nonsense. She didn’t look back…she didn’t have to…she could still feel him watching her every step. Now, she would have to use all of her powers. Whatever happened, she couldn’t become his prey.

*****

The Wolf watched her hips sway from side to side. Her seductive powers amazed him. He’d never seen such a stunning woman before. But he had a mission to accomplish. And she was part of that mission, God help him, he was doomed.

Isabella heard him pursuing her. No, she could feel him following her. Her heart pounded up into her throat. Whatever she did, she couldn’t let on she knew of his chase. If she’d felt threatened, she would have used her talents on him. The fact that she’d been a bit rattled meant little. She would eventually gain control of her racing heart…wouldn’t she? Never had a man made her feel so vulnerable. But she didn’t fear him hurting her…she only feared she’d lose her heart to him.

She’d never believed in love at first sight before but now…she didn’t know what to think. How could you lose your heart to someone you barely knew? Unless… Shaking her head, she began the long descent to the ballroom below. She trailed her hand along the banister. Chateau Belle Roche boasted a magnificent staircase made of Italian marble, and yet it always gave her a feeling of foreboding when she walked down its slippery slope.

Straining her hearing, she hesitated briefly, and heard him stop at the same time she did. She couldn’t read him like she did other men. What did that mean? She couldn’t dwell on him, she had an objective to accomplish.

Her heart stopped. Pierre strutted into view. He reminded her of a peacock. His vain attitude was a little revolting. He was the biggest fop she’d ever met, and thought more of his appearance than some ladies.

Could she bolt before he noticed her? She had hoped to avoid him for the entire night. She knew he would not like it if she gained Napoleon’s attention. It was too late. He’d probably already caught sight of her.

Pierre sipped at his coupe of champagne and looked up to catch her eye. Panic flared inside of her. Summoning her powers, she leveled her gaze on the painted Cyprian that stood to the left of Pierre. Within seconds, the slut had moved to fawn over Pierre. He reluctantly wrenched his gaze off her to attend to the loose woman’s flirtations. Tucking her arm beneath his, they sauntered out of sight.

Isabella would always be able to use Pierre’s lascivious nature to her advantage.

“That was fortuitous.” The Wolf’s smooth voice startled her.

She resisted the urge to toss him an irritated glance, over her shoulder. “Why don’t you just leave me alone?” she whispered.

“Ah, if only I could, Duchess.”

“Pray my lord, don’t let me hold you back.”

He chuckled. She quickened her steps.

Napoleon awaited her. If only she could shake her second shadow.

“Could I interest you in a dance?”

“I wonder what it would be like to dance with a wolf,” she laughed. “I think not. But feel free to pay attention to the other ladies that are in attendance.”

“Ladies, is that what you’d call them? By the heavy paint on their faces, and their garish attire, I would call them something entirely different. Ah, I guess we do have different opinions on the character and measure of a woman. I hear they will be playing the waltz several times tonight. We could tempt fate and take a turn or two on the ballroom floor.”

She stopped. By now, she’d made her way into the main part of the ballroom. Swan sculptures made of ice lined the refreshment sideboards.

They passed a cluster of Napoleon’s advisors.

“The British scoundrels have a mad King, so that can only make them a mad people.” The men laughed, and continued to jeer and make rude comments. “They should have a revolution to free themselves of their King’s lunacy. We could show them how to do it—if they didn’t persist in making war with us.”

“Ah, but they are not strangers to removing the head of kings. Or rather, one king. They sent King Charles I to the block.”

“Ah, but what they need now is their very own National Razor.”

Cold silence blanketed her. Her shadow didn’t seem to like that particular remark, and neither did she. Odd. Perhaps, there truly was more to her Wolf than met the eye. Her heart thundered in her chest. Wolves mated for life. She felt a blush warm her cheeks.

When she turned to confront him again, she noticed that he’d vanished from her line of sight. She searched the crowd for him, to no avail. Her heart fell. Why did she feel disappointment and confusingly enough a sense of loss? She’d only known the scoundrel for a scant few minutes and yet, he’d made an impression on her life that no other man had ever made. She almost felt vulnerable without him by her side.

An aid of Napoleon’s stepped forward. “His Imperial Majesty wishes to have a moment of your time, Mademoiselle.” The aid gripped her elbow, and steered her toward the front of the ballroom, which looked more like a throne room the way it had been arranged. Her mask it seemed, did little to hide her from those who mattered.

She swallowed. So, she had gained his attention, a little bit more so than she would have preferred.

Her heart raced. In for a penny in for a pound. She’d have to keep a cool and level head…hoping that her powers of persuasion would work on the little Corsican. She’d been rattled when they hadn’t worked with her Wolf, her Wolf. She smiled, funny how she would think of him like that.

When she was presented to Bonaparte, she dipped into a low curtsy, and murmured, silkily, “Your Imperial Majesty.” Her skin crawled when his eyes lingered a little too long on her breasts. Thoughts of The Wolf continued to plague her. Why had he come into her life? Did he intend to torment her until she’d gone half mad? Why did he weigh so heavily on her thoughts? She barely knew him. Her fascination with him was beyond ludicrous.

“Come and sit with me, my dear lady.” Napoleon extended his hand to help her step up to sit beside his makeshift throne on the red settle reserved for his mistress of the moment. She shivered. Terrible visions swarmed her line of sight. She swayed and nearly fainted. Greed and lust boiled beneath Bonaparte’s surface. He would not be a welcome adversary—as an ally he would prove invaluable. She had to play her hand right…or she risked losing more than her life. When his lips brushed her hand, she had to hold back a shudder. She wanted to run from the room and never look back…but she’d gone too far into the lion’s den. She had to see this through.

She trilled out a shaky laugh, while she settled her silky skirt around her legs. The ballroom loomed out before her and she had a clear view of nearly everyone. So, why couldn’t she find him?

A jolt ran through her when she finally spotted him. They made eye contact. Licking her lips, she leaned forward. She wanted to run to him. No matter what he’d said to her…and even though she didn’t know him, she still wanted to be with him. He beckoned to her, almost as if he’d be her safe harbour. And right now, she desperately required a safe haven.

“I must say, Mademoiselle, that you are by the far the loveliest woman in the room. Pray, do not hold your mask up to your face. You look much better without it. With that emerald you wear, you were not hard to spot. However, I grow weary of the bal masque, I shall have everyone de-mask shortly, so we can look upon all of the lovely French ladies, and you shall definitely be the belle of the ball.” Her stomach rolled. When they said Bonaparte could charm the ladies they weren’t telling tall tales. If he’d been speaking to just about any other woman, he’d probably have been able to sell his little act. But, she wasn’t any ordinary woman. Her talent made her extraordinary.

The Wolf still held her gaze. Snapping her attention away from him, she drew in a lengthy breath and smiled.

“I thank you for your compliment, Your Imperial Majesty.” She bowed her head to him. While she could have called him ‘my lord’ or ‘sir’ she knew she had to stroke his ego a bit more by using the title he cherished. She did as he bid and put her mask in her lap. Bitterness stung the back of her throat.

Bonaparte gave her an indulgent grin. “Ah, you are so beautiful.” He patted her hand. She fought the urge to draw it away. She thanked God for the elbow-length gloves she wore…she knew she wouldn’t be able to touch him with her bare skin…especially when he was affecting her through the barrier the material served.

“Your Imperial Majesty, I beg of you a moment of your time…”

“Mademoiselle, I have been told that you wish to return to England, and if I assist you with that endeavor, you shall relay intelligence to aid us. Now, my dear, what makes you think you can become privy to such information?”

“Once I arrive in England, I shall head for London, and I have connections there that would lead me to the information you seek.”

“Ah…I see,” he mulled over what she had said.

“You are quite lovely. However, I doubt your ability to keep up such a ruse.”

What he actually meant was that he doubted she was capable of such a feat. He doubted her intellect.

“I assure you, sir, I can be quite persuasive.”

“Then, you believe you could become the mistress of someone influential within the War Office or the Foreign Office?”

“My Uncle used to work for the Foreign Office, and I have no reason to believe that has changed in the four years since I have been gone.”

“And you would become his mistress? I trust there is no blood relation between you two?”

“Ah, no, sir. We are related by marriage, but I daresay I would not have to become his mistress…he raised me as his own daughter, and if I were to be reunited with him, he would keep me close.”

“I see.”

His tone lacked conviction. She would never get away from Pierre at this rate.

“And your Uncle Pierre? How would he do without you?”

“He would be fine. He…” she was about to confess all to him, when one of Pierre’s closest friends came close to them. He was eavesdropping for Pierre, and if she told Napoleon she was in France against her will, Pierre would punish Daphne for her betrayal.

“As I was saying, sir, my Uncle has influence within the Foreign Office, and he was close with men who worked for the War Office.”

“Ah, so you were surrounded by those bastards in Whitehall. It is a good thing that Monsieur Dubois rescued you from all of that. Alas, I am sorry, but we shall have to throw you right back into the thick of it, Mademoiselle. I pray you will be able to survive living with those English Dogs until you have completed your objective, and you can return to France.”

“My Uncle is Scottish, but aye, I shall survive, sir. I am quite certain that as a part of his household, I could fetch you some useful intelligence. He used to like to entertain…and when he did, we were surrounded by men who worked for the Crown.”

“And you believe that you could become an adept enough spy to procure this information? Men like your uncle are not foolish, and they keep their private and business lives separate, Mademoiselle.”

“I know, sir, and yet, I have my ways. I firmly believe I can be an asset to you, sir.”

“You would gladly give all, if necessary, for my Empire?”

“I would,” she said. Praise God, her voice didn’t tremble with her lie.

“If you prove to be a valuable asset, you will be well rewarded, Mademoiselle.” She didn’t care about any of that. If she could regain her lands and title, fine, if not…she would be safe in England. She had no intention of returning to France once she set foot in England, no matter how badly she might be tempted.

And yet, her plans weren’t foolproof. Pierre was a sneaky little bastard, and she suspected he would try to stop her.

Suddenly, she felt guilty. She was doing no harm. She might be proffering herself as a French Spy, but she would never give the French anything that might hurt Great Britain. No, her loyalties were firmly with the British.

“I should think I could give your uncle his own title and lands, and remove him as the Guardian of your Estates, and your title. He would no longer have control over anything you inherited from your Papa. You would be free of him, Mademoiselle. You would no longer be his ward. You would be Isabella, Duchess of St. Malo.”

Guardian? He was a bloody thief! She should have always been known as The Duchess of St. Malo, and Pierre never should have been able to take her birthright away from her! And yet, Napoleon would give her what she coveted. He would free her of Pierre. She would no longer be his prisoner.

“I should like that greatly, Your Imperial Majesty. You are too kind.”

“Not at all, Mademoiselle. It does my heart good to see a lovely lady such as yourself so delighted. When you return to France, you shall be rewarded, and I shall officially make it clear far and wide that you are no longer the ward of Pierre Dubois. Now, if your uncle hadn’t been born on the wrong side of the blanket, Mademoiselle, all that you have, would be his, and I would be a bastard to take it from him, and give it to you. Indeed, I feel a little contemptable for doing so and yet, you are the only surviving legitimate heir, are you not?”

“I am.” 

She attempted to keep her composure. She hated the fact that Pierre was her Uncle, as he was the bastard son of her Grandfather, and had been born while his mother was married to another man. That man had raised Pierre as his own, but Pierre had never been happy as his son…for he hadn’t been a duke.

“Well, there you have it. You shall reclaim your birthright, once you have proven yourself a valuable asset.”

“I shall.”

“Do you know something? I think you will, Mademoiselle. I think you have within you, enough power to bring my Empire and those English Scoundrels to their knees.”